First Hunt
by Catsluver
Summary: 13 year old Sam is determined that he is ready for his first hunt. But John and Dean have different ideas about Sammy going with them to hunt a werewolf.


First Hunt

Pre-Serie. A young Sam Winchester is determined that he is ready to hunt. John and Dean have different ideas about Sammy.

_**I don't own Supernatural but I am grateful to Eric Kripke, Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan and the many writers, directors and others who created such complex characters and a fantastic show.**_

_**Thanks so much to my daughter for all the proof reading and suggestions. She's my beta. I call her my editor. **_

"I can do this, Dean!" Sam eyes were narrowed and his fists clenched at his sides.

Dean recognized his brother's anger as he calmly continued loading his gun. "No Sammy. We can't watch out for you and do the job too."

"I can take care of myself. It's not like I haven't trained for this, like, all my life!"

John Winchester hadn't weighed in on this fight between his two boys. Dean was handling it well enough. He wasn't sure when Dean had become Sam's parent. It seemed to have happened naturally. Perhaps the seed had been planted when John handed his six month old son to the four year old Dean giving him the responsibility to save them both.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now, Dean! Go!" John remembered that day clearly and far more often than he liked. Usually he remembered his wife, Mary pinned to the ceiling burning to death. But not this time. This time he remembered his son's quick obedience.

Dean had always been the easy one of John's two sons. He followed directions and rarely challenged him. It wasn't that he hadn't gotten into his fair share of mischief, chasing skirts and sneaking a few beers but from early childhood Dean idolized his father.

At seventeen Dean had been hunting with John for five years. John started his son with routine 'salt & burns'. Angry spirits, usually more annoying than angry. Ones John wouldn't have bothered with but that they were good training for his son. What John considered the safest. Dean took to it like a natural. He was fearless and by the time he was thirteen John would take his oldest son on more dangerous hunts. Short ones so they didn't have to leave Sam alone too long.

Sam was different. At thirteen he had already been doing research for many of John's hunts, often spending hours at the library scouring through old books and archives. He was good at it and John admired him for it. But along with that analytical mind came a rebellious streak that was beginning to show itself more often. Where Dean rarely questioned, Sam almost always did. "Why? How?" Sometimes John would answer his questions but often he was preoccupied with mapping out a plan for his next hunt.

John was so often on hunting trips, exhausted from a hunt or researching for a hunt that it was Dean who got his little brother to bed on time and got them both to school most days. It was Dean who made sure they had breakfast, supper and money for lunch. It was Dean who made sure they brushed their teeth and took baths. It was Dean who made sure Sam had shoes that fit and clean clothes to wear. So, it was Dean that Sam felt he needed to convince he was ready to go on this hunt.

"You won't have to watch out for me. I know all the drills. I can do this! I can!"

Dean was beginning to wonder how long Sam would keep this up. He had finished loading one gun and moved on to another. "This isn't the hunt for a beginner. It's a werewolf. They ain't playin', Sammy."

"Nothing you hunt is _playin'_, Dean! How am I ever going to hunt if you try to keep me out of danger?" Sam was getting exasperated. He saw he was getting nowhere with Dean. In a last ditch effort he changed his tactics. "Dad, Dean was already hunting when he was my age. I'm ready. I can do this!"

"Dean wasn't hunting werewolves at your age."

"Yes, he was!" Sam was right.

"Yea, well I'd been hunting for a year by then. I had experience, Sammy." Dean wouldn't let Sam get around him that easily. "You can't start with a hunt like this. Werewolves are seriously badass!"

"Dean's right. Not this one, Sammy. We'll start you on some 'salt & burn' runs just like I did Dean. Be patient, son." John had finished loading his weapons and was ready to head out to load the car. "Come on, boys; let's go get some breakfast before Dean and I head out."

"I'm not hungry." Sam said "I can eat some cereal here." He was heartbroken. Once again 'Team Winchester' was headed out on a hunt without him.

Dean caught hold of Sam's shoulder. "There's plenty of food. We should be back tomorrow afternoon. Be careful and if anything threatens you, you kick its ass! You got your knife. Get your gun cleaned and make sure it's loaded."

Sam gave a heavy sigh. "I know the drill, Dean." He stood in the doorway of their latest motel room watching as they loaded the car then fell in step walking across the street to the diner. They were hunters, Sam thought. He wanted to be like his father but more than that, he wanted to be like Dean. He waited for them to enter the diner and then he stepped into the parking lot. He was formulating a plan.

At seventeen, Dean was already nearly six feet tall. He was strong, agile and light on his feet. He was an expert marksman with gun and bow. And his skills with knife and machete were to be envied. John had trained him well but that was only part of it. Dean had it in his heart to be a hunter. He excelled at the skills of the trade because it was what he wanted more than anything and John liked hunting with his son.

At thirteen Sam was still a small boy. Neither John nor Dean had an inkling that when Sam hit his growth spurt in the next year he wouldn't stop until he towered above both of them at six foot four. But now he was thin and small, almost delicate but he was tougher than he looked. Not as quick and agile as Dean but he was a good shot. He could easily defend himself in a fight and handle a knife with skill. John had trained both his sons well. He just wasn't sure Sam had it in his heart to be a hunter.

"So, you think we should take Sammy on a hunt soon?" John watched for Dean's reaction.

"Like you said, we could find some angry spirits and start him with 'salt & burns'." Dean was enjoying his eggs and bacon. He eyed his father. "You don't think he's ready do you?"

Dean had his own thoughts about his little brother. He knew Sam wasn't ready for this hunt, no kid should start out with werewolves but Dean knew Sam's heart better than anyone. He knew that Sam was as brave as they come. John had trained them both but it was Dean who was on the field with his little brother encouraging him every step of the way. And it was Dean who patched his scrapes, cuts and wounds and told him to keep trying. Sam was Dean's pride and joy. No parent could care more. No parent could know a child better than Dean knew Sam.

"I didn't say that. I'm just not sure he's cut out to be a hunter. There's nothing wrong with him doing the research. He's good at it. Maybe research is the right job for him." Sam would never know that his father had thought he might not make a good hunter. Dean would never tell him.

"So you _are_ saying he's not ready." Dean wanted to defend his brother but he wouldn't contradict his father. He knew better.

John sipped his coffee not answering.

"He can hunt, Dad. I know he can." Dean knew what Sam could do and he wanted his brother with him, hunting.

"We've got to give him a chance, Dad. He won't give up trying and I don't think we can hold him off much longer. We just need to stick to the plan and start easier, just like you did with me. He'll learn. He'll make a great hunter. I'll teach him."

"You're right. We'll find some hunts to train him. Some angry spirits. You take the lead. He'd follow you anywhere." John knew that Sam idolized his older brother and would do anything to please him just as Dean idolized John.

While John and Dean were at breakfast, Sam was at the Impala slowly circling it; studying, looking in each window. He thought if he could just get there without being seen he could at least watch. He wouldn't really be on the hunt, but it was close. And it would give him a chance to see 'Team Winchester' in action.

There was a tarp in the floorboard behind the passenger seat. Sam decided that he was small enough to fit under it without being noticed. His plan was a good one. He'd brought his gun loaded with silver bullets and stuffed in the back of his jeans. He held his knife next to his chest as he curled into a little ball and covered himself with the tarp.

Sam's heart raced with excitement. He knew he'd be in trouble when he got caught and he knew he'd get caught. Maybe not by Dad, but not much got by Dean. He was pretty sure somehow Dean would find out. But better Dean than Dad.

Soon Sam heard the doors of the Impala creak open as the two men got into the car. Dean was driving and John sat in front of Sam on the passenger's side. Sam kept absolutely still. He wanted to listen to them plan the hunt but the planning had already been done. So they just listened to music most of the time. Some small talk, but both men were mentally preparing themselves for the battle ahead. A battle with a creature that most people didn't believe existed. A supernatural creature. A real 'badass'.

It was a long miserable trip for Sam. It was hot and the tarp was itchy. He was hungry and thirsty and he ached from being curled into a ball for so long. When they stopped for lunch, Sam was starving but there was nothing to be done to for it. He couldn't waltz into the diner and order food, not right in front of John and Dean. He wished he had eaten breakfast.

By the afternoon Sam had decided that the best way to get through this miserable trip was to occupy his mind. He began to run scenarios in his head, imagining he was kidnapped and concentrating on figuring out distances the car traveled. He started by counting off minutes. It became more complicated when he tried to memorize each turn and remember the minutes between each one while still counting off. He lost count many times but he kept trying. Each time he was able to keep up a little longer. He began to develop a map in his mind and try to add in useful details; when they crossed what he thought was a bridge or the rough bumps he was sure were railroad tracks. He practiced all afternoon, in part because it kept him occupied but also he was sure it was a skill that would prove to be useful.

"This is near enough to the hunting grounds." Sam heard his father as they pulled to a stop.

"Moon's up early. That's good." Dean's voice.

"Let's roll." Dad.

They exited the car going around to the trunk to get their guns and extra ammo. Suddenly Sam wondered what the tarp was for. What was he going to do when they got the tarp and uncovered him? His mind began to race. He hadn't thought this out very well. He was too big to fit under the seat. There was nowhere else to hide. Sam was about to be in deep trouble. He heard the trunk close and waited for the big reveal. But it never came.

When Sam slid out from under the tarp and carefully peaked out of the window, he saw the two most important people in his world walking away down the street. Two hunters walking in step, silhouetted by moonlight as they made their way toward a dark alley. Upon reaching the alley they split one to each side entering cautiously, guns drawn and at the ready. Moving in a well-rehearsed pattern that appeared almost like a dance they made their way to the end of the alley.

Sam slipped out of the car and headed down the street after John and Dean. He quickly made it to the alley intending to watch from the entrance but he couldn't see anything. It was dark and each side was dotted with crates and dumpsters. Plenty of shadows, plenty of places to hide. Sam darted into the alley hugging one side and making his way from crate to dumpster always finding the shadows. He had hooked his knife into a belt loop at his side and had his gun drawn gripping it tightly. It wasn't the first time he made his way undetected down a dark alley. This was one of the training exercises the boys had repeatedly drilled. He knew it well. Rehearsed it until it became automatic.

As the hunters reached the end of the alley, they cautiously peered around the corner checking for signs of the werewolf. The alley opened to a waterfront street also dotted with large crates and a few dumpsters. John motioned Dean out of the alley and he slipped into the street, quickly taking cover behind a dumpster. Then John followed sliding in beside Dean. They waited, listening.

A scream pierced the night. Both men ran toward the pitiful sound quickly coming upon the werewolf hunched over his victim. A werewolf was not a wolf. It was a human 'wolfed out' as Dean called it, possessing wolf like characteristics. The fingernails elongated into sharp claws that could rip through flesh and bone. The teeth became long, strong, sharp and slightly curved. The creature's sense of smell was more acute than a human and it easily detected the slightest movement with its keen eyesight. The werewolf, like the wolf was a finely tuned predator.

This werewolf had brought down its victim quickly. The night watchman was young, not much older than Dean. The creature had grabbed him from behind allowing only the short painful scream before ripping through the throat nearly decapitating the man. As the hunters approached, the werewolf had already ripped open the man's chest and was beginning to feed on the heart.

Hearing the hunters, the werewolf looked up from its prey and snarled, baring its bloody teeth. It bounded away from the body quickly ducking behind one of the dumpsters lining the street. John immediately went in pursuit. He ducked in behind the werewolf who was exiting the other side. He fired but in the tight quarters the bullet ricocheted off the wall missing the target completely and the werewolf ran snarling into the alley.

Sam made his way down toward the waterfront and slipped behind the last dumpster in the alley. Suddenly he heard the snarling werewolf running into the alley. Sam had hunkered down in the shadow behind the dumpster. He held absolutely still, barely breathing as the creature slipped behind the other end of the dumpster.

Sam had never seen a werewolf, much less been close enough to hear it breathing and even smell it... Suddenly he realized he would have to move and fast because the monster's sense of smell was infinitely better than a human's and if Sam could smell him, then... Sam jumped head first from behind the dumpster hitting the ground and rolling head over heels. Landing on his feet he quickly spun around, gun at the ready. The werewolf was directly behind Sam growling and snarling as it lunged toward him.

John rounded the corner into the alley just in time to see his youngest son duck and roll from behind the dumpster. Sam executed a perfect turn around, his gun in perfect position. Exactly as John had trained him. When he turned, Sam was face to face with the werewolf. He didn't hesitate. He completed the drill perfectly, firing dead center into the beast. The gun roared three times... three perfect shots... Each one through the heart. The werewolf fell dead at Sam's feet.

Dean came up quickly behind John. He heard the shots and as he rounded the corner he saw Sam looking up, locked in his father's gaze. Both had guns drawn and Dean couldn't tell who had fired.

"Sammy?" Dean screamed. He broke into a run, scanning his little brother for injuries and trying to assess the situation. For the first time that night, Dean felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Sam's face was fearful, John's unreadable. Dean knew his father loved them but he also knew the price for insubordination. John expected his sons to be obedient. Not only did Sam disobey a direct order but he put himself in grave danger. Sam would pay dearly for this unless Dean could be the one to discipline him.

"_Damn_ _it_, Sammy! I told you..." Dean tried to intercede.

John held up his hand, silencing Dean. Sam was looking up at his father. Terrified. Waiting for his reaction. John saw the fear in his son's eyes, fear that had not been there when he faced the monster. He placed his hand on Sam's head and ruffled his hair.

"You did good, son." John smiled down at his youngest son.

Sam threw his arms around John, hugging him tightly; grateful for the praise and relieved that he had proven himself worthy. John hugged his son, pulling Sam tightly to him. At that moment John realized how much his young son idolized him.

John sent Dean to get the tarp while he went over the events of the hunt with his young son. He asked Sam to recount his actions and Sam started with his plan to hide under the tarp. He told John about his silent all day trip in the floor of the Impala.

"Must have been hot."

"Yea, I got cramps in my legs but I couldnt't risk moving or you would hear me."

John was impressed at the boy's perseverance. Sam explained his mental map making exercise, the he recounted his trip down the alley.

"Dad, I cleared the alley just like we do in drills and it worked!"

Dean returned with the tarp in time to hear Sam tell, step by step his encounter with the werewolf, his execution of the drop and roll, turn and shoot and the three shots that bagged the creature.

"Just like we drilled. Awesome, Sammy." Dean grinned and winked at his little brother. "You're not such a girl after all."

"Yea, Dean. Werewolves are 'badass'!"

"I'm proud of you, Sammy." said John.

The three of them wrapped the werewolf's body in the tarp and loaded it in the trunk of the Impala. They had located a place nearby to burn the body and bury the remains. Afterward, Dean drove to a nearby diner, insisting that Sam had to eat. Sam enjoyed the best meal of his life as the hunters sat together recounting the hunt reviewing and critiquing each detail. Sam felt like part of 'Team Winchester' for the first time and for now that was enough. It would be a few years and many more hunts before Sam would begin to think differently.


End file.
